


do you think that i want too much?

by raregoose



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Global Series, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregoose/pseuds/raregoose
Summary: Patrik wants it all. The goals, the glory, the Stanley Cup, the soft-spoken boy from his hometown who he plays video games with in his free time.The NHL sends them home. Two games, Hartwall Arena in Helsinki, Jets and Panthers. Twelve days for Patrik to finally take what's been just out of reach for so long.





	do you think that i want too much?

**Author's Note:**

> They announced the Global Series last January and I immediately felt like there would be a story there. I love Patrik and Sasha's relationship so very much and it was such an experience to watch all the craziness that came with the two games in Helsinki. I thought it was really fun to play with this idea of Sasha as the soft-spoken playmaker and Patrik as the more brash and outspoken sniper. 
> 
> The timeline on this is pretty handwavy - I tried to keep it pretty accurate for the playoffs / summer bit, but I was a bit more loosey-goosey with events in Helsinki for plot convenience and because from Patrik's perspective, he was so busy that it would've been hard to keep track of anyway. The one thing I can confirm is that there are photos from a Finnish tabloid of the Jets drunk as all hell on a sidewalk, and one of Patrik and Sasha walking together, [here](https://www.iltalehti.fi/nhl/a/3ecc884e-5ae5-4da7-a941-c985bb13b271) and [here](https://www.seiska.fi/Uutiset/Huh-mita-haroilya-Kaunotarten-ymparoimat-NHL-pelaajat-villiintyivat-Helsingin-yossa-Patrik) ! If you translate them you'll find that they don't remotely match the timeline of this fic, but it's fake and it doesn't really matter so don't think too hard about it
> 
> "Paul" is Paul Maurice and "Stas" is Paul Stastny, by the way.
> 
> Rating is for a couple non-explicit sexual scenes, and the title comes from Carly Rae Jepsen's Gimmie Love!
> 
> Anyway please look at the way 18 year old Patrik is looking at Sasha in [this pic](https://nbcprohockeytalk.files.wordpress.com/2018/01/laine-barkov.jpg?w=610&h=343&crop=1) from the '16 World Champs and also [this one](https://img.ilcdn.fi/3x8SrvTDmvzEAYAIArLc8I32EOg=/full-fit-in/612x/img-s3.ilcdn.fi/d64158aa08551afe9f9e9c4885e401bfe6e616e623cd95f5e215eca4bffd3fff.jpg) from the global series

Patrik texted Sasha every day. Just about, whatever, really. League happenings and news from Tampere and stupid things that happened during their games. Sasha told him to focus on his defensive game and Patrik told him to try shooting more. Mostly they played games, teamed up on POV shooters or NHL, lolled out on couches two thousand miles apart, talking over their headsets while they shot up the avatars of some random teenagers.

Then the All Star game rolled around and whispers picked up about the possibility of a regular season game in Finland. Patrik, who never really bothered himself too much with rumors, allowed himself the tiniest bit of hope, trembling fingers clicking on the article on his phone, scanning it. They would _have_ to send the Jets if they went to Finland, right? 

He thought about wearing his Jets sweater at Hartwall in Helsinki, screaming fans above the ice pronouncing every syllable of his name correctly. He wanted it all, the fans, the goals, the glory, the _cup_ , silver and shining under the lights and heavy in his hands. He wanted to be the best Finnish player to ever play the game — no, the best player _period_.

_I heard it’ll be you guys and Carolina,_ Sasha texted him. Patrik knew he was hedging his bets, deflecting, not letting himself get excited even though there was just as good of a chance of the Panthers going as the Hurricanes.

_But it could be you, too_ , he texted back. Sasha could be a little too wishy washy about stuff sometimes. He didn’t seize his chances. He was like that at video games too, passing every onscreen puck to Patrik for the finish, dancing around the ice dodging every defender just like real life, only to pass it last moment, just like real life.

Sasha was the set-up man and Patrik pulled the trigger. 

Sasha was at the All Star festivities and Patrik was at home when the Global Series was officially announced. Jets and Panthers, two games in Helsinki in November, Laine and Barkov the marquee names, the two best active Finnish players.

Patrik just texted Sasha the eyes emoji and turned off his phone. He’d deal with the inevitable masses of ticket requests later.

The beat reporters asked about it eventually, and Patrik felt a little warmth under his ribs, thinking of Sasha and the games with a smile on his face as he gave a canned answer about his excitement. The other guys in the room had asked him about it a little too, those who had never been to Helsinki curious about what it was like. He fielded the questions with ease.

That is, until Nikolaj threw him for a loop.

“I mean, it’ll be fun,” he was saying in their hotel room, folding his suit at the end of the night.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Patrik replied, only half-paying attention as he stuffed his own clothes in his bag.

“Especially with you and Barkov-”

“Mm-hmm,” Patrik hummed.

“-with how you two are, y’know,” Nikolaj continued, gesturing noncommittally with a loose hand. 

Patrik paused and looked up. “How we’re… what?” he asked, not sure what Nikolaj was getting at.

“Oh.” Nikolaj looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry, I just thought,” he cut himself off, his sentences broken.

Something squeezed inside Patrik. “You just thought, _what_?” he asked, pressing, wanting to hear explicitly what Nikolaj thought before he said something he regretted because he extrapolated something different from what Nikolaj had implied.

“Well, I, uh, I kinda thought you guys were, like, I dunno, _together_ , or something.” His eyes were dancing around the room, looking anywhere but Patrik’s face. His voice was tight in his throat, the “th” in “something” fully disappearing into an “f” as his Danish accent rose a little. 

So, Patrik _had_ extrapolated correctly.

“What, um.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you think that.” His voice was flat, purposefully levelled, careful not to betray any emotion.

“I mean, I don’t know what you’re saying, but you _do_ kinda talk to him every day. Always giggling at your phone or whatever. And even more lately,” Nikolaj defended, gesturing with an open hand at Patrik’s phone.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Patrik just said, abandoning his packing and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We’re _definitely_ not dating.” 

Not for lack of trying, though. Sasha never seemed to seize his chances. Not when they stayed up too late and Patrik flirted as hard as he could, hoping the tone would not be lost over the headset. Not when the Jets played the Panthers twice a year and they’d grab dinner and Patrik would find every excuse to touch him, playfully touching his muscled arm as they strolled around the city. Not when Patrik would flat out invite him back to the hotel or his apartment, making his desires, at least in his opinion, painfully clear.

_Definitely_ not dating. Patrik had mostly given up on it.

“So… not together. But you like him?” Nikolaj asked, figuring it out.

“Since the 2016 World Championships, actually, but — it’s not gonna happen.” Sasha wasn’t gonna date him. Sasha didn’t date _anyone_.

“Ah, shit, dude,” Nikolaj replied. “Sorry.” He sat down on his bed facing Patrik.

Patrik shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”

“Not if you get under it first,” Nikolaj said suggestively, smirking, trying to lighten the mood. “Get it? Like, _under_ it? Like, under him?” Patrik dropped his head, shaking his head but smiling at Nikolaj’s attempt to cheer him up. He also couldn’t help the heat rising in his ears at the thought of it.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said through a chuckle. 

So, Nikolaj gave him shit for it from then on, hollering in the background when he knew Patrik was texting him, making sex noises while they gamed, loud enough so Patrik could hear him but not loud enough that Sasha could hear him over the headset. Which was surprisingly considerate for a chirp.

As the tooth-and-nail fight for playoff position built up and the original hype over the Global Series abated, their connection slipped. The Panthers were fighting for their lives, and Sasha popped up online less often. He had a lot on his mind.

Patrik was busy too, on a goal scoring spree across North America in the back half of the season, dancing across the ice with Nikolaj and Stas, making every goalie regret choosing their position.

They flew into playoffs on a high while the Panthers clawed to the edge only to miss by a single point. When Patrik heard, he looked at his phone for a long time, opening and closing his texting app. He eventually set his jaw, typed out _next year_ , closed his eyes, and sent it. He groaned and tossed his phone across his bedroom, horrified and embarrassed, not even wanting to know if Sasha was going to respond.

He didn’t look at his phone again until he was at the rink later, organizing his stall. He forgot that he was avoiding it, clicked the screen on, and saw the reply, _Bring it home to Tampere. I’ll be watching you_ , and promptly dropped his phone, put his rapidly reddening face into his hands, and failed to not make an embarrassing high-pitched half-groan half-scream noise.

Paul looked up from his clipboard with an eyebrow cocked, then looked back down. Patrik had never in his life been more grateful for his coach’s laissez-faire attitude. 

Stas, a few stalls down, ever the parent (he was really too much like Wheels), turned over and asked, “everything okay over there Patty?”

“It’s fine,” Patrik assured, hoping his face had returned somewhat to its normal shade.

It was fine! Everything was awesome! Sasha was going to watch him in the playoffs, his intelligent eyes no doubt catching every one of his mistakes, always so cognizant of every player and the way plays developed. He was horrified, but something in the pit of him was excited, taut like a string, wanting Sasha to watch him, wanting those cool eyes trained on him and _no one_ _else_.

Playoffs went great until they didn’t, and Patrik went home. He cut his hair and his beard and vowed to never do _that_ again. He rested. He trained. He talked to Sasha every day.

_let’s do a golf tournament next summer or something. that’d be pretty cool_ , he texted him at one point.

_A golf tournament?_

_yeah, we can do it for charity and stuff, tons of people do them._ He did think it would be fun, bringing a golf tournament to Tampere, raising money for whatever cause and spending a day just having a good time with Sasha.

_But you suck at golf._

_you wound me_ , and he attached a couple broken heart emojis to that one, even though neither of them were really emoji guys. But it felt right. Sasha had been breaking his heart for years.

They figured out the golf thing, planned it for the following summer. They went to Teemu’s tennis tournament and played doubles together, placing second in the tournament. Teemu said they had good chemistry together. Patrik would be inclined to agree. They played tennis like they played video games or hockey, effortless teamwork, Sasha with his ironclad defense, setting up for Patrik’s lightning-fast attacks. Set-up and finish, working in harmony.

At the end of the summer they met up in Sweden for the European Media tour. They were corralled into a room together and asked questions about their friendship, clips that would be cut together and put out later to advertise for the Global Series. The interviewer asked who was the playmaker when they played NHL together, and Patrik jerked a thumb to Sasha.

Sasha always set him up, and Patrik capitalized.

The next day they went to Rauma together to play in the Liiga alumni game and the Jets media even made the trip to watch, starting to prep for the trip in November.

“They’re following you around today, superstar?” Sasha asked in quiet Finnish, nodding at the Jets TV guys fussing over their equipment.

“I’m very popular,” he assured. Sasha laughed, and Patrik grinned. It felt good, to be on the ice with him, to even have the chance to play with him instead of against him for once.

“We make a pretty good team,” he said to Sasha afterward as they undid their gear.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Sasha said, smiling a tiny bit. Patrik’s heart rushed up into his throat.

In his mind, there was nothing Sasha couldn’t do. He was the perfect player, the perfect guy. He spoke softly but his play spoke louder, loud enough to show the league exactly who he was. Patrik couldn’t help but want to follow him, just like he followed him from Tampere to North America through the second overall pick. Patrik couldn’t help but think that they were made for each other, like he was made to finish Sasha’s plays, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, since they complemented each other so well in every aspect of their lives.

“Pate,” Sasha said. “Let’s go home.”

Patrik’s brain quickly went a lot different places with those soft-spoken words and Sasha’s doe-eyed gaze, but it was natural for pro hockey players to have overactive imaginations.

“I’ll drive,” he replied. It was natural for pro hockey players to want too much.

Patrik was a pro hockey player. He was used to having confidence in taking his shots. 

But maybe he wanted Sasha to set him up. Most of what Patrik had done in his life, Sasha had done first. Maybe he wanted Sasha to want him first. It was that silly little itch of traditionalism that hockey players had, even Patrik, who never had done much of what other hockey players did.

Patrik drove them home to Tampere. It was the end of the summer. The new season was approaching fast, and with it their return to Helsinki and Hartwall and the media frenzy that would no doubt follow them.

Month one of the season didn’t go as hoped, not for either of them. It felt like every puck was bouncing off Patrik’s stick wrong, and he was bounced around the lines, from first to fourth, looking for something to spark him. As for Sasha, it seemed like every time Patrik checked the standings, the Panthers sank lower. Patrik was desperate for the trip to come, for a change in routine to spark something from himself.

They arrived in Helsinki on Sunday. It was typical Finnish fall day, crummy and cloudy.

“This is somehow even worse than Winnipeg,” Copper grumbled, grumpy after the long flight, zipping up his jacket as they trudged off the plane.

“Hey, watch it,” Patrik said, half-joking. “No shit-talking Finland in front of me!” 

As they walked around, it started snowing. Copper turned slowly to Patrik with an exhausted look on his face. “Your homeland is testing me, Patty.” Patrik rolled his eyes.

They had Monday off, and Sasha rented a car to drive him and Patrik up to Tampere.

“Your media guys following you around again today?” He asked, pulling out onto the road.

“A few people are coming,” Patrik replied, trying to remember all the different itineraries and plans shoved in front of him over the past few weeks. “But I don’t think I have to do anything. They’re just there to see it. Get some film, maybe.”

“Good,” Sasha said.

“We’ll have the day to ourselves, then,” Patrik said casually. The rest of the guys were sightseeing in Helsinki, left to their own devices once they realized that Patrik knew the city just as little as them.

Sasha made a low note of agreement, focusing more on the road than Patrik.

Tampere was the same as it always was in the fall, cold and a little dreary but beautiful nonetheless. Patrik was mobbed by friends and family at the homecoming, and he and Sasha went their separate ways for most of the day. They met up again in the evening, after home-cooked meals and hours of being doted on by their families, to hang out for a bit before making the drive back to Helsinki.

They sat out by the lake and watched the sun go down, enjoying the last few minutes they’d get in their hometown until the summer.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Tampere in the fall,” Sasha said, curling into his jacket. “It’s cold.”

“Florida’s softened you up,” Patrik joked, laughing softly. He dared to lean in and brush shoulders with him. Sasha didn’t pull away. They stayed like that, leaned against one another, sharing what little heat was left, the leftovers from the setting sun.

“I’m not complaining about it.” Sasha shrugged. “It feels like summer all the time.”

Patrik could see the appeal. He’d spent the bye week in Florida the previous year, wearing short-sleeves and playing golf with Sasha in the dead of the winter while Winnipeg was covered with a seemingly-eternal sheet of grey slush.

“Warm weather feels better when you’ve made it through the winter,” Patrik said.

“Hmm,” Sasha said. He turned and looked at Patrik. Patrik considered him. He was growing out a little scruff, the shadow of a new beard framing his jaw. He filled out his jacket well, broad in his chest and shoulders, his body filled out more than Patrik’s, who still was growing out of his gangly teenager’s body. “Maybe the best things are the ones you wait for.”

Patrik had been waiting _years_.

“Don’t go getting so philosophical on me, Barky.” Patrik punched out a laugh, even though he was thinking of the past two years, two years of always wanting _more_ , since his starting line at the draft, wanting only to obtain the things he didn’t have: the accolades, the goals, the recognition, the boy.

He didn’t consider himself a patient man.

“Must be the cold Finnish air getting to me,” Sasha deadpanned.

“We better warm you back up before your brain freezes.” Patrik swung an arm around and rubbed Sasha’s back as if to warm him. “I’m sure your team wouldn’t be very happy if you lost all your hockey smarts from exposure.”

“Mm, yeah. Time to get back to Helsinki.” 

They stood, but they were still huddled together as they walked to the rental car. Patrik had forgotten gloves and his fingers were cold, but warmth was spreading across his chest and cheeks. He knew his face and ears were red, and he hoped it could be passed off as being due to the cold. As they climbed into the car and buckled in, Patrik turned to look at Sasha, and noticed his ears, too, were red.

He debated the cause internally for the entire two hour ride back to Helsinki, parsing every word and gesture with a fine-tooth comb, searching for some sign or hidden meaning, hoping for a chance to take what he’d wanted for so long.

They danced around each other for the rest of the week. Mornings were for the team and for practice, and afternoons were for Finland. Sasha and Patrik were paraded around the city, doing signings for sick kids and taking pictures with everyone and letting some camera crew or another film them eating at Siipiweikot. They spoke about their love for the restaurant a little in English for the cameras before they were left alone to eat. It felt wrong, hearing English come from Sasha’s mouth, like the words were put there by mistake. Finnish sounded _right_ in his voice, his soft-spokenness accentuating every subtlety and change in tone.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” Sasha mused, biting into the wing. 

Patrik laughed. “Nowhere else really compares.” He looked over his shoulder quickly to make sure all the cameras were off and away, then swirled his forefinger in one of the cups of sauce and put it into his mouth, licking it clean.

He released the cleaned finger with a wet pop and sighed in satisfaction. “So. Good,” he punctuated, closing his eyes. Sasha followed Patrik’s finger with his eyes and laughed breathily. And Sasha had always been the more reserved of the two of them, more likely to keep his hands and words to himself, so it was extra exciting to see Sasha reach over to the same cup, stick his finger in it, and suck the sauce off, smiling the whole time.

Afternoons making appearances for the Finnish public became nights out with the team, watching the boys get way too drunk and try to stomach the strange delicacies that Patrik introduced them to. As his teammates hit the streets of Helsinki, chatting with any women around, Patrik lingered in the lobby of the restaurant, waiting for the Panthers to emerge from their private room.

Sasha came out soon enough, hands tangled in a scarf. 

“Oh, hey,” Patrik said, as if the meeting was serendipitous, as if he hadn’t been pacing in wide circles hoping that this very encounter would happen. “You heading out with the team?”

Sasha looked over his shoulder for a second before looking back and shrugging. “I think they’re planning on hitting a few bars. I was just gonna go back to the hotel, maybe.” He flicked his eyes up from the floor to Patrik’s face. Patrik burned. He tugged his hat further down his ears to hide the red.

“Yeah? Me too, I think,” he said, casually as possible. “C’mon, let’s walk together, Barky.” Sasha just nodded, and they fell into easy conversation as they walked out into the Helsinki streets. Patrik stayed close but not too-close to Barky, keeping cognizant of the space between them and the paparazzi around every corner. They walked by some of the other Jets on the city streets; the boys were falling over themselves, flirting with the locals, red-faced and laughing, cameras going off around them, immortalizing their drunken escapes forever. 

“Patty! Patty hi!” Nikolaj called, waving his arms at him. He was a friendly drunk, and he had a girl on each arm. Patrik waved back. Sasha peered around him to see who Patrik was waving at, and Patrik realized what was happening a millisecond too late, still looking at Nikolaj, seeing the recognition register in his glassy eyes as he made eye contact with Sasha.

“Fuck-” he muttered, just as Nikolaj grinned broadly and called again, “I’ll see you later tonight, buddy! Good luck getting under it, eh?” He started laughing at that, clutching the random girls like he’d known them his whole life.

Patrik felt his ears burn and Sasha peered at him curiously.

“... ‘under it’?” He asked in English, repeating what Nikolaj had said.

Patrik made a mental note to give Nikolaj a smack the next time he saw him.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, switching them back into Finnish, “Nikolaj’s a fucking idiot.”

They dodged the rest of the Jets players mingling on the sidewalk and made it back to the hotel. The Panthers were one floor below the Jets, and they got off the elevator on Sasha’s floor. Sasha hadn’t said _come back to my room with me, Pate_ or _how about a round of NHL_ , so Patrik was just working off manufactured confidence and the knowledge that no one was ever going to give him what he wanted.

He always had needed to reach out and grab it. But Sasha was slippery, slipping through his fingers in every corner.

Patrik cornered him by his door. Sasha’s room was tucked in the end of the hall, the two of them filling the narrow entryway. 

“Who’re you rooming with?” He asked, trying to find a reason for Sasha to let him in.

“Juho,” Sasha said. Patrik didn’t recognize the name. “Young guy, rookie. He’s a Finn, too.”

“Oh, nice.”

“From Noormarkku.” Patrik nodded. Near Pori, just west of Tampere.

“Tampere’s better,” Patrik said with a smile, though he’d never even been to Noormarkku before.

“Of course,” Sasha agreed.

Patrik said, “can I ask you something?” as Sasha simultaneously said, “well, it’s late.”

Patrik snapped his mouth shut. Sasha tilted his head, confusion in his gaze.

“Pate?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Patrik said, brushing it off. “You’re right; it’s late. Big game tomorrow.” He turned to walk back to the elevator.

Sasha’s hand brushed the sleeve of his coat. “Pate I-”

“Good night, Sasha,” Patrik said.

He went upstairs and stood in the shower until the water ran cold, bracing against the wall with his forearm and jerking off with shallow strokes. He panted as he relieved the pent up stress, the unbelievable pressure weighing on him with every step, Sasha’s unbearable and impenetrable gaze that followed him like a shadow, this stupid distracting young adult sex drive that tinged everything red.

He came with a hitched sound in his throat, thinking of the brush of Sasha’s hand in the narrow hallway.

When Nikolaj crept back in the room, lipstick down his neck, Patrik was lying on his side on his phone, reading tabloid articles about himself.

“Well?!” Nikolaj asked, pouncing on Patrik’s bed, pinning him down, “did you get that sweet kitty dick?” His breath smelled like rubbing alcohol; Patrik choked on the air.

“Ugh, get off me.” He pushed Nikolaj away and sat up. “And no, if you must know, there was no getting _under_ Sasha tonight. I jerked off in the shower instead.”

Nikolaj shook his head. “Okay, first of all, _gross_ , but second of all, you need to fucking grow a pair and tell him how you feel!”

“And _you_ need to get off my dick about this,” Patrik shot back. “He’s just… _not_ interested. Anything I try, he deflects. He’s a fuckin’... like, deflection master.”

“Okay, so he’s the deflection master, but no one knows how to shoot their shot better than you, Patty.” Nikolaj wrapped an arm around Patrik’s neck, pulling him into a headlock. “And what happens when you let a rocket go from the top of the circle and someone deflects it?”

Patrik looked up at him wearily from the headlock. Drunk Nikolaj was tiring.

“ _Someone fuckin’ scores_ is what happens, man!” Nikolaj gave him a shake and released him. Patrik flopped back onto the bed.

Nikolaj stumbled over to his side of the room and fell back onto his own bed.

“Holy fuck,” he said quietly toward the ceiling.

“What now?” Patrik asked.

“We have a fucking game tomorrow. Holy shit.” Nikolaj rubbed a hand down his neck; his fingers came off glittery and pink.

“Yeah. Maybe time to sleep?”

“Yeah. G’night, bud.”

Patrik woke up the next morning (game day, _finally_ ), and wasn’t sure what actually happened the previous night, and what was a dream.

Under the lights at Hartwall, the stands filled with Finns, a sea of blonde heads in his jersey, it was like Patrik let out a breath that he’d been holding for a long time.

He wasn’t sure if it was the energy of the stands, the relief of the pressure of thinking about the trip for the past nine months, the eyes of his family and friends watching him, or some spirit of the 2016 World Juniors, but it seemed like every puck went his way.

He scored two. Powerplay goals, like an arcade game, bouncing from Wheels’ stick to his own to the net. Like a laser, like a lightning bolt, like a hot knife through butter. All of a sudden hockey was easy again, the puck bouncing toward his stick instead of over it. The empty netter to finish the hat trick was the easiest goal of his life; the puck sailed the length of the rink into the empty net, and even Paul had a wry smile on his face when he went back to the bench.

He did his requisite media and went back to the hotel on a high, grinning ear to ear as he stripped out of his suit into his underwear and laid the beat down on Nikolaj in NHL. His phone was buzzing off the hook, so he turned it on silent and let the notifications stream in, watching it out of the corner of his eye and the names scrolled up the screen, in case anyone he actually cared about popped up.

Then, suddenly: _Text from Sasha_

The notifications were coming in too fast, and the text in question was quickly pushed out in favor of newer ones. 

“Wait, oh, fuck-” Patrik fumbled with his controller, trying to pause the game.

“Patty what the fuck, man?” Nikolaj turned to him as the pause menu covered the screen, but Patrik was distracted, flicking away text notifications until he found Sasha’s.

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Nik, for _one_ second!” Patrik waved him off. He clicked the notification, his text thread with Sasha popping up on his screen.

_Nice game tonight_

He pushed his phone into Nikolaj’s face. “Help me, what does he mean!” he whined.

Nikolaj blinked for a moment at the text. “Patrik, this text is in Finnish.”

Patrik looked at the text again. “Oh. Right.”

_thanks. you weren’t too bad yourself! i bet you’ll start winning a bunch soon. just not tomorrow >:)_

He dictated to Nikolaj as he typed, his brain working in two languages at once, and Nikolaj nodded. Patrik held his breath and sent it. He put his phone in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the bed, with his palms pressed together in front of his mouth as if in prayer.

“So… I’m guessing that’s it for ‘chel tonight?” Nikolaj asked, not even waiting for a reply before he started shutting down the system. Patrik nodded absentmindedly, all his focus on the screen, watching texts from friends and family pop up, waiting for one from Sasha.

Then: _We’ll see about that. Are you out celebrating with family?_

He read it aloud to Nikolaj, who said, “okay, make sure you ask where he and his roommate are. I can clear out if his room’s not empty. Y’know, for cat dick purposes.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Patrik grimaced.

“Stop talking about cat dick. That’s gross.”

He returned his attention to the texts, carefully tapping out: _no, we’re meeting up tomorrow. just destroying nikolaj at nhl right now. what are you and juho up to? are you both in for the night?_

Patrik conveniently left out the bit about destroying him at NHL when he read it aloud, and Nikolaj was pleased with the response.

The next response came rapidly, much faster than the previous one. Patrik hadn’t even put his phone back down, so he startled and nearly dropped it when the notification slid in.

_Juho is out with family. I’m just here hanging out._

“He’s alone!” Patrik said to Nikolaj, his voice raising an octave.

Before he even had the chance to fully react, another text came in: _You could come up and hang with me for a bit, if you want._

Patrik reacted in the way that felt most appropriate: he pitched his phone across the hotel room at a chair. “He just invited me over!” he practically shrieked, his voice going to a place he didn’t know it could.

“Holy shit, buddy!” Nikolaj cheered, getting up and bounding over to his bag. He dug through it for a second and came up with two handfuls of condoms, which he shoved into Patrik’s hands, saying, “go make me proud, man!”

“Wh-ah-co-we’re not gonna fuck _right now_ , are you crazy?!” He fumbled with and dropped the comically large amount of condoms, scattering them on the bedspread. He looked down at them for a quiet moment. “Jesus, Nik, we’re here for twelve days, what did you even think was gonna happen?” he asked, gesturing to the twenty or so condoms on the bed.

Nikolaj shrugged. “Dunno. Better safe than sorry. Anyway, you go get your boy, okay?” He practically pushed Patrik out the door once he’d wrestled on a t-shirt and some relatively decent shorts.

Patrik just texted back _okay_. He was _totally_ casual. It was fine.

He didn’t take the elevator; he sprinted down the stairs in sets of three, then walked to his room, willing his heart rate to slow. He knocked, and Sasha was quick to open the door.

“Hi,” he said, stepping back and letting Patrik into the room.

Patrik stepped into the room and immediately felt awkward; he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to sit. He stood, analyzing his choices, overthinking the situation, as Sasha walked around him and plopped himself down on his bed. Sasha raised his eyebrows at him.

“So do you want to sit or are you gonna awkwardly stand the whole time?” he asked wryly, patting the spot on the bed next to him.

Patrik snapped out of it and laughed. It felt unnatural and his legs were shaking; but he managed to settle himself down on the bed next to Sasha. 

Sasha had invited him over knowing they’d be alone. There was an uncertain current in their interactions. It didn’t feel like any other time they’d hung out; Patrik was _sure_ something was about to happen, but he didn’t know what.

They were just talking, not even that different from usual, just random things about linemates and the funniest things from the locker room. But then Sasha flicked his eyes down to Patrik’s lips and Patrik realized that they were leaning against each other on the bed, shoulders pressed together. He curled his toes in his socks. He was nervous, which was the stupidest thing, because he was never nervous, but Sasha was touching his arm, and Sasha was cute and funny and always said the right thing and his legs and chest were distractingly muscular, stretching out his thin shorts and shirt.

“-and then I told him-” Sasha was saying, but he stopped as he realized that Patrik wasn’t paying attention at all. In Patrik’s defense, Sasha had just done that thing he did where he absentmindedly ran his hand across his pec, and Patrik was busy committing the sight to memory.

“What?” Sasha asked.

“No-I, it’s nothing,” Patrik said. “Keep telling your story.”

Sasha looked at him for a moment. “You’ve been kinda weird lately, you know that?”

“Have I?” Patrik lied. He pinched his lips together and tried to make a normal face, one that would convince Sasha that everything was totally fine and he wasn’t thinking of tossing Sasha’s shirt out the window and worshipping his body for the rest of the right. He probably did not succeed.

“Yeah,” Sasha just said, giving him a onceover. “That’s kinda why I wanted you to come over tonight. I know last night you wanted to say something, but…” He opened his palm as if to invite Patrik to finish the broken thought from night before. 

“Is something bothering you?” Sasha pressed.

Sasha was a good friend. A caring friend. The kind of guy that would text you after you had a bad game.

_And just a friend_ , Patrik started to think, before Sasha looked at Patrik’s mouth again and wet his own lips with his tongue.

And Patrik thought, that question was kind of a softball. Kind of open-ended. Kind of… _inviting_.

Kind of like the perfect set-up, a saucer pass across the ice directly to the blade of Patrik’s stick.

And Patrik thought, maybe he’d been approaching this wrong; maybe Sasha had been waiting for Patrik the whole time. And Patrik thought, _maybe_.

Sasha had always been the passer, never the finnisher.

“Barky I like you so much,” he said suddenly, before his courage was gone, all of it tumbling out at once. “For so long, I've just wanted to kiss you so badly, you can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah?” Sasha said. “Well, maybe you should do that.” Sasha reached over and took Patrik’s hand.

Patrik’s heart split open and he hungrily leant forward to kiss Sasha, one hand on Sasha’s chest and the other in Sasha’s hand.

Out of the two of them, Patrik was the shooter, scoring off of Sasha’s perfect set-ups.

Sasha kissed him back and turned his body and suddenly they were wrapped up in one another, kissing and touching and not breathing nearly enough. Patrik anchored himself with one hand at Sasha’s waist and explored Sasha’s thick torso with the other, across his firm stomach and chest and those stupid pert nipples that stuck through the fabric.

“Ah-” Sasha’s breath hitched against Patrik’s mouth as he ran a thumb across his nipple, and Patrik smiled. He kissed Sasha harder, sucking on his lower lip, running a tongue across his mouth and tasting him.

He was stuck between living in this moment and savoring it as much as he could, and committing everything he could to memory, because who knows if he’d ever have the chance again, or if this would stay in Finland and not follow them back to North America.

Sasha cupped his cheeks with his hands. Sasha’s beard scratched Patrik’s chin. Sasha’s tongue was in Patrik’s mouth. Sasha made a little noise of discomfort against Patrik’s mouth, and he pulled Patrik over and up onto his lap.

Patrik was straddling Sasha and arousal exploded in his brain. He felt like his vision was swimming. He was hard, _so_ hard, and in his new position on top of Sasha he couldn’t keep himself from rolling his hips down onto him, feeling Sasha hard too against his leg. 

Sasha tilted his head back and gasped out the tiniest moan. Patrik kissed his exposed neck, holding his shoulders.

“H-how long?” Sasha asked.

Patrik pulled off and smiled sadly. “Since forever. When we met, at World Championships. I was eighteen and stupid and you were— _are_ —perfect.”

“For me it was slowly,” Sasha said, running gentle fingers up Patrik’s arm as he spoke. “A little bit more every day, and I thought you were maybe into me too after a while.”

“You should’ve said something if I was that obvious, idiot,” Patrik reprimanded, lightly smacking Sasha’s arm.

“Sorry,” he said through a shy smile. “You know how we are. You’re the one who always takes what you want.”

“I just needed you to give me the pass first,” Patrik replied easily.

“Everything is just hockey to us, huh?” Sasha chuckled.

“It’s what we’re best at! Now, can I kiss you again?” Patrik asked. Sasha nodded, and Patrik leaned back down to kiss him again, once again being swallowed by affection and attraction and the way Sasha smelled and tasted.

He nudged Sasha’s shirt up, feeling his stomach with his cold fingers. Sasha shuddered at the touch, his hips jerking up against Patrik.

“I wanna-ah-” Sasha said, pressing his fingers into the meat of Patrik’s hips, holding him down on his lap so they could grind against each other. “-but we can’t. We shouldn’t. Game tomorrow.”

Patrik groaned, knowing Sasha was right but so deep into a haze of arousal that he could almost convince himself that it didn’t matter.

“Are we, or, can we, do this again?” he asked, holding Sasha’s chin in his hand, running his thumb over the scratchy stubble. Sasha touched the back of Patrik’s hand.

“That’s the hard part, isn’t it?” he asked. He paused a second, considering. “Come to Florida again, for your bye week?”

“Yeah, okay,” Patrik said, smiling into one more kiss, giggling against Sasha’s mouth.

“I’ll put you in my calendar. And anyway,” Sasha continued, pushing his hand up under Patrik’s shirt, pressing the tips of his fingers against the skin there, “we have tomorrow night too.”

“God you really are the smart one, aren’t you?” Patrik said, already feeling keyed up thinking of the next day. Sasha smiled and pulled Patrik back in.

They made out for a little while longer, careful to not get too crazy, just rolling around and kissing and laughing. By the time Patrik managed to drag himself out of the room and go back to his own room, he was so high on the affection that he didn’t even chirp back when Nikolaj howled with laughter at the marks on Patrik’s neck, but instead he just laid in bed with a grin and fell fast asleep.

They lost the next game, but he scored again, and Sasha was on the other side of the ice, so it wasn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna remember every second that we spent here for the rest of my life,” he told the media after the game, Sasha on his left, and he really meant it.

On the bus back to the hotel, Patrik leaned over into the row in front of him where Nikolaj was and said, “you gotta clear out tonight, okay? Go find some Helsinki girls or something.”

“Ah, I’m tired as fuck, man, and now you’re _sexiling_ me?” He said, incredulous.

“Please?” Patrik pleaded. “I’ll buy you dinner when we get back.”

Nikolaj rolled his eyes. Next to him, Wheels raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“Fine. Try not to use all my condoms.”

Wheels bit back a laugh at that one, and Patrik just rolled his eyes.

“Not like you’re in any danger of using them,” he shot back.

“Ouch,” Nikolaj said. “Wheels, can you believe this guy? Gets laid _one time_ and suddenly it’s like he doesn’t even live with his mom.”

Wheels chuckled at that despite lacking any context for the situation, and Patrik flipped them both off.

He didn’t feel too bad about the chirping later when Sasha was giving him the best blowjob of his life, though. He came with his fingers in Sasha’s hair and stubble against his inner thighs. He hauled Sasha onto the bed by his armpits, flung his arms around him, and kissed him, paying no mind to the taste of jizz.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Pate,” Sasha replied, brushing sweaty hair off Patrik’s forehead.

“There really is no place like home,” Patrik said through a laugh, before rolling them both over so Sasha was on his back and Patrik could return the favor.

They didn’t use any of Nikolaj’s condoms. It was fine. They had plenty of time, and there was always more to do.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> you can find my tumblr and twitter @raregoose :) feel free to yell at me about these boys!
> 
> This also ended up being a lot more... meme-y than planned but let's be real there is no greater Huge Crush feeling than throwing your phone across the room when they text you. Also yes I did edit this down a word so it would be 6699 words instead of 6700. It's the little things


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